


when the levee breaks

by crimsonepitaph



Series: Soldiers Verse [9]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Domestic Violence, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Memories, POV Alternating, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24846472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonepitaph/pseuds/crimsonepitaph
Summary: Jared and Jensen have a conversation that is long overdue.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Series: Soldiers Verse [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/786189
Comments: 19
Kudos: 53





	when the levee breaks

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's note #1** : A huge, huge thank you to Betty for reading this and giving feedback!
> 
>  **Author's note #2** : Switching to a Led Zeppelin for the title, _When the levee breaks_.

####  **_**Prelude** _ **

#####  _JARED_

Jared likes these moments. Middle of the night, quiet, lack of motion. Rest of the world asleep, him the outlier. 

Even the time it takes to go through a cigarette feels different. The smoke rises unhurried. Jared raps the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray and the ashes crumble over the encrusted glass. 

Jensen thunders into the kitchen in boxers, in the process of throwing on a t-shirt, both black, authority severely undermined by the haphazard way his hair has chosen to stay, even before the material of the shirt flattens it over his forehead. 

"What?!' he huffs, apparently not as enthusiastic about 4 AM deep, meaningful talks as Jared feels. 

"Sit down, " Jared says, refraining from a nervous smile, because there's a limit, and if Jensen has showed restraint in not punching Jared or a wall, well, Jared can hold in the giggle that threatens to come out. 

Really, how stupid is it that they're doing this. 

Starring from scratch, learning the alphabet after they've written poems to each other. 

Learning to communicate in a brand new way, when they'd been taught the most efficient one, when they were excellent at that in the field, when no words were needed for everything to fall into place like they intended. 

Jared’s scared half to death of this conversation. 

He’s not sure it helps that Jensen plops down on the chair to Jared’s right like he’s just crash-landed from the attic. 

“The hell are we doing, Padalecki? It’s 4 in the morning,” Jensen pleads, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“Talking.” 

Jensen freezes, looks at Jared like he’s gone crazy. 

He’s not entirely wrong. 

“Talking,” Jensen repeats, like he’s trying to figure out if he heard right. 

Jared nods. 

Briefly panics because he has no fucking clue how to continue. 

Talk. Sure. About what? Which of the million things that weigh down upon them should he start with? 

“Padalecki,” Jensen starts, low tone, _deadly_ , “if there is no national emergency, if no one will die if I am not sitting in this kitchen, I’d like to go back to sleep.” 

Jared pushes the glass of whiskey he’d poured for Jensen over. 

“You slept, Jen. Twelve hours now.” 

“And, what, you’re the sleep police?” 

“No,” Jared says, shaking his head. He thinks a little before speaking. “Go back to bed if you need it. This can wait.” 

The cowardice is swiftly replaced by worry.

Jensen stares at him, unnervingly, scrutinizing. Jensen decides, like he always does, that he’s not letting Jared get off that easy, and shrugs in vague consent to the impromptu meeting, settling in his chair and enveloping the glass of whiskey with his right hand, like you’d do a cup of hot cocoa on a stormy night while watching the fireplace, listening to ghost stories. 

He waits. 

Stares at Jared. 

Who, with every passing second, knows this was a bad idea. That they’re not getting out alive. 

Of course, he has a penchant for the dramatics. 

But it’s hard to subdue the panic, when he knows nothing, when he knows not how to do, not what to expect, not how far he’s willing to go, and especially not how far he should go, how honest he must be for this to matter. 

“This isn’t working,” Jared tells Jensen before he decides he can’t do it. 

Half-truths aren’t enough, Jared realizes. 

That’s what they’ve been doing. 

“ _This_ , what?” Ackles asks, a glint in his eyes that makes Jared even more nervous. 

“The way we’ve been doing it,” he clarifies. “This,” he adds very eloquently. 

Oh, Jesus Christ, he’s bad at it. 

Not bad - _horrible,_ like _, never play party games where Jared has to explain something_. 

“Fuck me,” Jared adds on an exhale, because, hey, why not dig all the way to China. He leans back into his own chair, tries to look at Jensen. Not only full truths. But the ones that matter. “Jensen,” he pleads. He wishes no words were needed. That Jensen would just _understand._ But they’ve proven it doesn’t work like that - Jensen can’t read Jared’s mind. “You’re going through something.” 

Oh, this is the easy part. 

Raising his hand, the cigarette up in the air to ask Jensen not to protest, to beg him to let him finish, but Jensen cuts him off anyway. 

“This about last night? Jay, I’m -” 

“You’re not fine, Jen. And neither am I,” he adds before Jensen can speak again. 

Yeah. This is it. 

The start. 

Point of no return. 

Jared jumps headfirst into it. Any other way, he’d chicken out, leave it halfway, enough to say he tried, but doing too little to change anything. As it is, Jared’s heart beats so loud, so fast, it seems like it wants to jump out of his chest, and his mind empties, nothing but waiting for Jensen’s answer having meaning in the moment.

Smoking is a reflex in the long silence. 

Jensen watches. 

Not understanding. 

Right. 

Because this isn’t him. Them. _Sergeant Padalecki_. 

But the guy who’d listened to the vets in the meeting the other day, that wasn’t _Sergeant Major Padalecki_ , either. That was someone else, someone Jared doesn’t really comprehend, or feel comfortable with yet. Because that guy thought, _if these people, if these soldiers came here, for me…then I must have done something, something that was right along the way, among all the failures. If they can speak about it -_

He has no excuse. 

With Cortese and Beaver trying to help ever so patiently, Morgan looking after them in his own way - what excuse do they have to dodge their part, when people who’ve suffered worse don’t? 

Jared remembers the woman from his meeting. 

But, that, alone, wouldn’t have been enough. Jared would be still drowning in self-pity if Jensen hadn’t come home like he did. If that hadn’t happened, Jared would have let himself succumb to the natural state, _guilt_ , guilt that he’s a burden to Jensen, that he’s always the one broken, _needing_. 

But he’d figured out, though he hardly dares believe it - what Cortese’s been trying to tell him from the start - Jensen needs him, too. 

But the woman. 

The woman, who talked about the things that ricochet around in Jared’s head, too: about feeling weak, _different_ , less, not wanting anyone to see it. She wasn’t. Any of it. She survived four tours, then an IED exploding under her Humvee, subtract a leg, sprinkle PTSD generously , then her girlfriend leaving when she came back.. 

She wasn’t as lucky as Jared is. His partner had come back for him across a goddamn continent. 

And Jared, the idiot, still didn’t believe Jensen when he told him he loved him. 

That’s how Jared arrived at the conclusion, months, years too late, as stupidity, stubbornness, prejudice began clearing from his vision - he’s the only one keeping himself from receiving the comfort he needs. He’s the one that doesn’t let people in. Not fully. 

Which is progress, Cortese would say, except, Jared has absolutely no idea what to do with that information. 

How to do - _be -_ different. 

Jensen’s silence isn’t helping. 

#####  _JENSEN_

Jensen has no idea what to say. This is alien. 

Literally. 

Jensen feels like he’s been teleported to another planet where Padalecki actually talks about his feelings. 

The opposite of pod people. 

That’s the solitary thought passing through Jensen’s head, that he’s dreaming, or Padalecki’s been replaced by an emo doppleganger, or he’s going to announce that he has five minutes left to live, and, hey, fuck it, he decided to finally share with Jensen, let him in. 

Nothing like the threat of immediate demise to make Padalecki sentimental. 

The only situation where he would be. 

Where he’d accept that he has no reason for hiding. 

Jury’s out on the last option, though, because his partner looks pretty healthy. No blood draining out of him, no broken limbs, no - 

“What the hell is that?” Jensen asks, slapping his glass on the table, in a haste to lift the sleeve of Jared’s white t-shirt. There’s a bandage underneath, red stain in the middle. “The fuck happened?” 

The wheels in Jensen’s head start turning, a little too fast, heartbeat accelerating in companion. 

Rationally, he manages to understand that Padalecki’s not in mortal peril. 

That’s not it. 

But it’s another wound. 

Another way Jared is hurting. 

The collection that keeps growing while Jensen just watches. 

“Was running drills this - well, yesterday morning,” Jared grimaces. 

“Drills.” 

“You gonna keep repeating what I say, Ackles? Beginning to think I wasn’t the only one needing those lectures on communicating.” 

Jensen maybe - _maybe_ \- presses down on the red stain, where he knows it hurts. Just a little. 

Padalecki hisses. 

“Jesus, fine, fine,“ he acquiesces, glaring at Jensen. “We used live ammo.” 

“You what?!” Jensen spits out, incredulously. 

Jared pulls his shoulder out of Jensen’s grip. 

“How else are those kids going to learn what it’s like in a war zone? Rubber bullets?” Padalecki explains, like it should make sense, laughing derisively, like getting shot is just another day at the office. “What consequence comes of that? Knowing you can’t be hurt, can’t hurt anyone, that we’re just playing.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Jensen exhales, leaning back, not quite believing what he’s hearing. “And, what, killing one of their own, or shit, their drill sergeant, that’s something a green kid can live with?” 

Padalecki has the audacity to roll his eyes. 

“It’s just a scratch.” 

Dear lord, give Jensen patience, because if Padalecki continues like this, the charge will be _murder of passion_ and no jury will convict him. 

“Jay - “ 

Jared interrupts him. “That isn’t what I wanted to talk about, Jensen.” 

Jensen laughs without mirth. “And what did you want to talk about? Snoring? Leaving dishes in the sink? What, Jared, what of all the things that don’t matter do you want to start with?” 

By the end of that sentence, the volume raises so much, Jensen’s almost shouting. 

He isn’t sorry. 

If Padalecki wants to talk, here it is. 

Let’s have it. 

Everything. 

Maybe it’s the numbness he feels after his last session with Beaver, like he’d exhausted all his pain in facing the memories of his brother’s death, like this can’t hurt him as much as that did. 

Or it’s a momentary lapse of judgement. 

But if Padalecki’s running around giving real guns to barely-of-age kids, then, Jensen’s entitled to his own opinion. More than. 

So he pushes. 

“You’ve been acting this way ever since you got back, hell, ever since I met you - like nothing gets to you, like nothing can kill you. When are you going to understand, when are you going to get through your thick skull -” 

“Jensen,” Padalecki cuts Jensen’s tirade, “I know.“ Then softer. “I get it.” 

Jensen stops, confused. 

What does Padalecki _get_? 

“I get what you’re feeling,” Padalecki continues. 

Jensen huffs out a mocking laugh. 

“Really.” 

“Jensen - “ 

“No,” Jensen says, slapping his palm on the table. “You wanted this. We’re doing it.” 

It’s cruel, the smile he puts on, when he sees that Padalecki doesn’t have a grip on this. That he doesn’t know what to say, what to do. He sits, listens to Jensen. Smokes. 

Almost like he’s afraid. 

“What do you want me to say, Jensen?” Padalecki retorts, and yes, this is what Jensen wants, getting a raise out of him, a _real_ fight, one where everything comes out, one where truths are the only way to go forward. “Want me to apologize for this little scratch? What, like you did when you came back like Swiss cheese?” 

He did not - 

How are the two situations even in the same sentence? 

“You - “ Jensen starts, but at a loss on how to continue. “That’s not even close to the same thing.” 

“Why?” Jared shrugs. “You got hurt, I got hurt. Barely.” 

The _barely_ makes Jensen’s fury go from the usual four to a steady seven. 

“Are you _trying_ to annoy me?” 

“Are you purposefully fixating on one thing?” 

Great. 

They’re talking apples and pears. 

Jensen doesn’t see how Jared can’t understand why this matters. 

How they have this vast difference in their process of thought. 

“Why don’t you tell me what happened with Beaver, why you came home like that,” Padalecki says, getting up, putting distance between him and Jensen, taking his ashtray with him. 

Jensen’s too angry to figure out why it’s precisely the clink of the glass hitting the counter makes him explode. 

“You know what, none of your fucking business,” he spits out. “If you’re gonna go stand in front of every bullet you can find, I don’t see why I should share, I mean, what if tomorrow you’re dead?” Jensen throws his hands up. “What does it matter, Jay? Why build anything when you’re so hellbent on testing its strength every single day? You wanna see how much it can take? This much. This is it. I can’t - ” 

“You can’t what?” his partner asks, no emotion in his voice. 

“Can’t go on like we’ve been doing. Pretending - “ 

“That it’s working? That’s what I said at the beginning, Ackles.” 

“It ain’t working because you don’t want to,” Jensen yells. 

Padalecki continues to stand, smoke, shut off. 

“What don’t I want to do, Jensen?” 

He asks like he already knows the answer, and he’s just waiting for the condemnation. 

He’s smart. 

But then again, Jensen knew that. 

“Quit being the hero for once, Padalecki,” Jensen says, menacing, no pretense, not even for his own sake, that he tries to spare Jared’s feelings. No. This isn’t said with love. This is everything that has found room in their baggage, starting with Padalecki’s judgement on him quitting the team. “You can’t step off your holier-than-thou pedestal. The perfect soldier. Tell me, do they know, do they know how hard it is to live with you? Day by day? How the perfect soldier acts when he’s home? That he doesn’t sleep, that he sits with a gun in front of him? That fear can be felt in his every step, in his every word, in his every breath?” 

Jensen stands. It feels like the right thing to do. Get in Padalecki’s face. Throw it all at him. 

_When the levee breaks._

A Led Zeppelin song they both love. 

Interlude. Soundtrack. Truth. Jensen continues the assault. 

“You, _you,_ the one who survived torture, countless missions, _you,_ the one everyone worships because of his courage, have you told them how afraid you are all the time? How you can’t spend a moment with me without thinking it’s gonna end, how you don’t let anything good just _be_ , how you find everything wrong? How you can’t be happy even for a minute, because you’re too afraid you’re gonna break it? Break me?” 

They’re inches away. 

Too close. 

“It’s easy,” Padalecki says, smiling ruthlessly. 

“What?” 

“Breaking you. Last night proved it.” 

Jensen throws the punch Padalecki’s been waiting for. 

Short, sharp crack. 

He feels better for having done it. 

For a second. 

Then Jared raises his head, and Jensen sees the blood on his lip. Padalecki doesn’t even move to wipe it away, too accustomed to its taste. 

Jensen backs away. 

He - 

This isn’t what they are. 

“I’m - “ 

“I deserved it,” Jared says, shrugging, a look in his eyes that Jensen hates, dead, abandoning the fight. “Besides, I think you’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.” 

Yeah. 

But not because he wanted to hurt Jared. 

He’d just thought - 

They’re creatures of war. 

They’re unpolished, unskilled at anything that resembles normal. 

This is their response. 

“I - “ Jensen’s lost. This is what he’s done. This is what it’s come to. He can’t quite believe it. The words come out without Jensen really wanting them to. “When I was in the hospital, and you so easily gave up. Told me I was a coward. Didn’t think that it wasn’t easy, for me, either. You just saw… _yours_. Like you always do.” 

“I apologized.” 

“And then you gave me half.” 

Jared frowns. 

“Half?” 

“Half of everything. Because that’s what you want. To keep being you, and to have me, exactly the way you want it. Living by your principles. By your rules.” 

Jensen feels utter shame for having hurt Jared. In a physical way. Seeing the tangible, immediate result of his actions - 

Jensen has never felt more ashamed. And yet - he also felt vindicated. Because he had finally gotten Jared’s attention. 

They’d hurt each other until now - only, they couldn’t see. 

There is a reason they’ve gotten to this point. 

####  **_**Main act** _ **

#####  _JARED_

They’re just words. 

They’re just sounds. 

And yet, the effect they have - Jared doesn’t know how it’s possible. How he feels trapped in this kitchen, by Jensen’s anger, by his own failings to drive this conversation in a way that showed what he really wanted. What he meant. 

The walls are closing in, and the only thing Jared can do is stand there, watch them, _feel_ them, try not to move, try to keep what little bit of composure he has left. 

He stays silent. 

Jensen’s not wrong. 

Jared’s a control freak. That’s why he was a good team leader. He liked, and more importantly, _knew_ how to control. Impose his vision. And nine times out of ten, in the field, he was right. Nine and a half. 

But here, outside, with Jensen - 

_I didn’t ask you to throw me a parade, Padalecki. But I stood by you. No matter what._

He did. 

Except for now. 

When he thinks - 

Where’s the line between accepting the other as they are, and a compromise? How much? How much of themselves do they need to give for this to work, and how much is too much? 

Jensen’s still speaking. 

Jared isn’t, at all. 

He wants to. 

He wants to explain. 

Jensen’s right. What’s the point? 

Jared wants to build, too, he just doesn’t know how to. 

“I’ll always stand by you.” It’s faint, even to his own ears. He can’t look up from the kitchen floor tiles. The pattern. The harsh lines. “I’ll always come back.” 

Jensen huffs. “I don’t know if that’s enough.” 

Jared dares to look up. 

Jensen isn’t being cruel - just…honest. 

The honesty they’ve been afraid of. 

“Do you really think I’m a coward, Jared? For getting out?” 

Yeah, Jared thinks, he has power over Jensen. More than he ever wanted to. More than he should have. 

“No,” he answers. It’s not a lie. “I just didn’t understand why you would choose this over being in the field.” 

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Jensen says, throwing his hands up. 

Giving up. 

Sitting down in the chair again. 

Pressing his thumb into his palm, _hard_ , muscles contracting under the sleeves of his t-shirt. Looking at them like the motion can provide the answers they need. 

The pain, that Jared understands. 

“I said _didn’t,_ ” Jared tries, even though it isn’t easy, even though the easiest thing would be to leave it like that. 

“And you do now?” Jensen asks, looking up, tone disbelieving. 

He’s not angry anymore. 

Simply sad. 

“Not fully,” Jared answers. “I may never get it. Because that’s who I am.” 

“I’m so tired of hearing that.” 

“Wait,” Jared continues before Jensen can say anything else. “I’m not saying - _shit._ ” He crushes his cigarette in the ashtray. Takes it with him to the table. His steps are shaky - he feels weak all over, he has to actively search for the energy to continue this. There’s so much. So much to explain. Intertwined - damage one, one single pillar on their foundation, and they all fall. 

He sits down, wills himself to think. 

To find solutions. 

If this was a mission. If his life depended on telling Jensen - 

“Motherfucker,” he says instead of any well phrased epiphany. He draws another cigarette from his pack. Three more. He wishes he was anywhere else. With the same pack in his hands. That this didn’t exist. That Jensen did. 

That things went smoothly. 

That things went according to Jared’s plans. 

Jensen’s right. 

He lights up. 

It doesn’t really help, since it only draws his attention to the way his hands are shaking. But it’s the only grounding habit he has left. 

“I - Jensen, I may not ever fully get your decision because I may never fully accept that I won’t die in the field, on some mission thousand miles away.” 

Jared tries to look at Jensen, but he can’t. 

He feels Jensen’s gaze on him, though. 

Jared focuses on the edges of the burnt cigarette, makes it his goal to watch for the moment the ashes fall. It’s the only way he’s able to continue. 

“I’ve never thought - never even dreamed of being with someone. Never. Maybe it’s because I only had my father growing up, who cared too much about booze to care about anything else. I never saw a relationship, a real one, much less a man with a man. Went from high school straight to the army. Only experiences I really had were, quick fucks to blow off steam, that kind of thing. And it didn’t bother me. I liked it like that. You know what caring for an abusive alcoholic does for you? I keep going back to my father…I keep asking myself…but, anyway, you stop believing that things can be good, pretty fast. That’s what you learn.” 

Jared doesn’t know if Jensen is still listening. 

If he has earned the right. 

But he talks. Shares things about himself that he’s figured out from those excruciating sessions with Cortese. 

“You believe for a while, when he says he’s done for good this time, and you think, yeah, it’s not so bad. Then all hell comes down. When he smashes your face in the bowl of soup you’ve prepared for him, because it’s cold, and it’s been a long day of work, and he’s showing you that it’s not warm because you can’t do even a little thing like make soup right. When by some miracle you don’t lose an eye, a tooth, when the bowl shatters, and you look at him, and he just laughs.” 

“Jay -” 

Jared shakes his head. 

“No, no pity. That’s not why I’m telling you. What I want to get at is - my other family…my aunt, my grandparents - they told me how brave I was. How mature, how responsible. How much they thought of me, I’m taking care of my father, even when he’s like that. How they admire me. Even some unlucky friends that caught me wiping shit and vomit off the toilet seat, _how strong you are, Jared, to handle this._ Believe it or not, before Cortese, Chad was the only one who ever told me it wasn’t right.” 

_Christ on a cracker, Padalecki, that’s how you live? You’re coming to stay with me._

“He took me in. But it was too late. Damage was done. Cortese says it’s because I only got praise when I took care of someone. That they taught me that not thinking of myself is a good thing. I don’t know. I think there have to be some screws missing for me to do what I do.” 

“Of course there are.” 

Jared raises his head in shock. 

“For all of us. You think Aldis is all there?” Jensen asks. “You think I - you think last night would have happened if I was so well adjusted?” 

Jared fastens on that detail. “What did happen?” 

Jensen looks at his glass, turns it in his hand. 

“We all have something in our pasts, Jay. For me…it’s my brother.” 

“I thought you said he was a great big brother, that he protected you,” Jared says, frowning. 

Jensen looks up again. “Things don’t have to be bad to put their mark on you, Jay.” His tone is soft. “When you get used to the good, a semblance of it, and it’s taken from you, you’re at a loss what to do.” 

Strange. Jensen always seems so determined. 

Focused. 

Immovable. 

Jared’s moods swing wildly - the sea to Jensen’s rock. 

Or so he thought. 

“That’s why it meant so much when you didn’t - when you left. That day, in the hospital…it was the first decision I ever made for myself. Truly. I was scared to death I was doing the wrong thing. I knew I was failing my teammates. I needed someone to tell me it was okay.” 

“Like your brother used to.” 

Jensen nods. 

“This, _us,_ ” Jensen says, meeting Jared’s gaze, “it’s…different. Stronger than anything. For me, at least. I don’t know how to deal with it, I don’t know how to act when I’m threatened with losing it.” 

“I’d say,” Jared says, licking his split lip. 

“Jesus,” Jensen replies, mortified. “I shouldn’t have done that.” 

“I’m joking, Jen. It’s - well, we don’t want to get arrested for domestic violence, but - I know what…I know why that was.” 

Jensen shakes his head. “I know, too. Something that will never happen again.” 

“Of course it won’t. Next time I’m throwing back.” 

Jensen closes his eyes, purses his lips. “We should never be allowed into society.” 

Jared laughs. 

The silence that stretches after that is not entirely comfortable. 

Jensen speaks first, still playing with his empty glass, tracing the rim with his finger. 

“Still…doesn’t change anything. You’re still hellbent on killing yourself – not even in a combat zone, so hell, you’ve even gotten more creative,” Jensen says, throwing a quick glance at the bandage on Jared’s bicep. “You still don’t get it.” 

Jared huffs. 

“I’m not - I’ll always do what I have to, Jensen, that won’t change, no matter what.”

There’s a _but_ in there that Jared doesn’t manage to voice out loud. 

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” Jensen replies. 

“What?” 

“That you don’t care that you live or die.” 

Jared shakes his head. 

He does. 

Now. He found something in Jensen, something he’d be the biggest idiot on the planet to give up. 

But Jared doesn’t know how to tell that to Jensen. 

And Jared’s afraid, truly, not a momentary panic that subsides, but dread, dread that they’ve opened Pandora’s box, and there will be no way to close it back up. 

#####  _JENSEN_

He’d thought - he thought he’d gotten all the anger out. But here it is, again. 

They’re circling back. 

They have different versions of the same fight. 

“You know what the problem with that is, Jared? People loving you are left behind! People…who need you,” Jensen barely gets out, choking on the last word, on the admission. “Sacrificing yourself in some godforsaken prison at the end of the fucking world, getting killed teaching your trainees how to shoot...it’s all the fucking same, Jay. That absence…and it’s killing the part of me that’s become - “ Jensen wants to say _you, yours, bound to you, tied irreparably to a part that Jensen can’t rationalize, can’t soldier out,_ but he stops. There are no words. 

“It’s not the same,” Jared counteracts calmly, elbow resting on the table, lit cigarette between his fingers, spindly, transparent swirls of smoke lifting between them. “It’s not the same, how you die.” 

And that calm…be it forced, be it genuine - it drives Jensen mad, he wants to climb the walls with each word, with each unmovable edifice of thought Jared carves out. The anger that envelops Jensen is white hot, coursing through his hands, building in his chest, and he wants to yell, scream, shake Jared until he saw what Jensen saw, understood the fear that crawls in Jensen’s veins, that robs him of his sanity with each one of Jared’s impulsive, selfless decision at a time. 

Or cry. 

That’s what Jensen wants to do, he realizes. 

It’s a moment of clarity. A second, not even that. The hurt wants to get out. Everything. Every last bit of sorrow and grief. A muddled feeling that has to do with his brother, with the atrocities he’s been part of, with Jared, with every last bit of shredded hope. The hand life has dealt him, the desperation of having lost so much. 

His sheer inability to lose more. 

More of what he loves. More of what makes it all bearable. More of what pulls him out of the dark. 

“Jared…”, he tries, not caring anymore. About how it looks, about the consequences. 

Maybe this is what Jared feels all the time. 

“Please,” it all he gets out, voice breaking, sound too raw. 

Forgetting everything, realizing there is only death, only an end. Wanting to feel something, _anything_ that comes close to that, because, fuck it all to hell and back, it’s the only thing that makes him feel alive, burning, part of the world and its mechanism, a never-ending trip chasing the moment you’ve just lost. 

Nine parts joy, adrenaline, exhilaration, bliss - and one heartache, the omnipresent melancholy that it will end, the panic that there’ll never be another moment like this. 

“Please…what?” Padalecki whispers, and it’s now that Jensen realizes, Jared’s hands are shaking, he hasn’t moved. Jared, who should have run hours ago, when Jensen had come, but still sitting there. Cigarette ashes fall down on the table, and they’ll probably leave a mark on the wood, but that’s what they should do, every little thing around them should be broken down to reflect what they are. “I just want…” Jared continues, and the lack of ending to that sentence reeks of all the things they don’t have the courage to let out. 

Both of them. 

Jared deposits his cigarette in the ashtray. Shaking right hand balls into a fist. Trembling. Gathering. Steadying. He can barely lift his eyes to meet Jensen’s gaze. The left hand comes over the right. 

“When I stayed...on that last mission, in the old prison,” Padalecki begins again, and Jensen stills, feels his chest tighten at the memory. Instinct tells him to stop Padalecki. To not open old wounds, even if they haven’t healed properly. He doesn’t. He faces it. The tears may not be the trademark of the perfect soldiers they want to be, but their actions when put in front of what scares them most are, and Jensen’s always known, he’s strong, he’s Army right down to his bones. “I just wanted it to stop. I thought it’d be the end, that on the other end, all that waited me was a bullet through my skull. And it sounded so good, Jensen,” Padalecki rasps out, looking at Jensen, something in his eyes Jensen’s never seen. Not tears, not anguish - but openness. Vulnerability. Jared bends, doesn’t break, and yet, here he is, stretched out until even the smallest cracks threaten to disintegrate the entire structure, shatter the invincible man into a million pieces. 

“I had lost all energy to fight the enemies in my head…to fight _myself._ There were no days that I didn’t have to fight to be - functional. To _be_ , simply. To not fail those around me. Tooth and nail - barely hanging on - and yet, it never seemed to be enough. Chad died on my watch. So many others. _You_ were hurt. And Chris – Chris made a decision that should have been mine. And I just - I couldn’t, anymore.” 

Jensen’s afraid to ask. He does so in a whisper, nothing loud enough that it couldn’t be denied. 

“Couldn’t what?” 

Jared shakes his head. Brings his shoulder up in a vague shrug at the same time. Memories must be relived to be told fully. Feelings must come back. Jensen had just gone through this. 

“Just couldn’t,” Padalecki replies, intractable, energy of the admission hovering in the air, a wound that would never heal, a cut that still drips blood over all their thoughts. “And dying a hero, making a sacrifice - that meant no one could be pissed at me for taking the easy way out.” 

The silence that stretches afterwards is sharp. 

The whiskey in his glass is nowhere near enough. 

Jensen gets up. 

He swears that he intended to fill the glass up again. But he doesn’t. There’s a crash, and glass splinters over the countertop. He senses Jared flinching behind him. There are plates. Screams. His. Hands that break everything they touch. 

Crimson red stains. Pain. 

A cup, Army insignia. Jensen looks at it before he throws it against the opposite wall. 

Jared doesn’t say anything. 

Everything’s going to shit, and Jared, like he always is when everything’s going to hell, he’s calm. He knows what to do. 

He knows what Jensen needs, what Jensen wants. 

Jensen both hates and loves him for that. 

The damage, it’s done. 

The anger. 

It’s not hate. 

Or it is, but not directed at the man sitting beside him. No, it’s at everything in their lives that brought them here. 

Only if Jensen could mold reality like Padalecki does, by sheer force of will. 

_It’s just a scratch._

_We’re going to be fine. I’ll run to Antarctica if I have to. I’ll figure it out._

_We’ll get through this._

_I don’t want to live._

How easily it seems Jared decides what reality he wants it to be. 

How simple it sounds, when he says it. 

And how utterly helpless Jensen feels when he hears it. 

He can’t change anything. Jensen had been the one who wanted this, who pushed for it. Pulled Padalecki in, convinced him that the cons were less important that the pros. He’d really thought they could get through anything. At first maybe it didn’t even matter that much, Jared was just a hot guy, a golden trophy on the shelf Jensen racked up after his brother’s death, in his attempt to live, to take what he wanted without remorse, without too much thought. 

And now Jensen feels like he’s being ripped apart, when he feels so deeply what Padalecki says to him, when his mind and body aren’t convinced that they can take the pain induced by Jared’s confession. 

But he breathes. 

Just like he did through his brother’s death. 

Ragged, chest heaving, not enough air. Mind, racing. Panic. Another breath. Remembering his training. Remembering who he is. Steady. 

Jensen grips the edge of the counter, still facing away from Jared. He closes his eyes. 

He forces himself to inhale through his nose, deeply, trying to ignore the coppery smell of blood, the way his palms sting, where smithereens are embedded in his skin. 

Who knew destroying all their dishes would be the thing that frees the silence from its weight? Padalecki laughs, a low chuckle that makes something in Jensen’s chest bloom…something that changes what seemed irreparable just seconds ago into something bearable, that can be lived with. 

“Drawing wasn’t cutting it this time, Ackles?” Padalecki asks, shifting in his chair. 

Jensen doesn’t turn. 

He smiles, small, against his will. “Shut up.” 

“No, it was time things in this house suffered at your hands, too, not only mine.” 

Jensen turns his head slightly. He finds Jared looking at him, grinning provocatively. 

“Though you should maybe stop at some point, we’re running out of phones, dishes, and I don’t really want to have to replace anything bigger.” 

Jensen frowns. “What happened to the phone?” 

Jared tilts his head towards the shelves they have at the entrance, wire frames with slabs of wood between them that separate the hallway from the kitchen. 

“Yours. You threw it against the wall last night. It’s there, I reassembled it and put it near your keys.” 

Right. Jensen vaguely remembers that. 

“Shit,” he huffs out, all fight completely going out of him. He turns all the way, starts moving, only to find Jared suddenly beside him. 

In two seconds flat, a towel is wrapped around his right hand, non-judgmental eyes meeting Jensen’s when he raises his gaze, confused, trying to understand what’s happening. 

“Also, there might not be enough bandaids in the world to patch all the damage we’re doing to ourselves, so, maybe we take it easy for a while.” 

Absurd. 

That’s what Padalecki is. 

He gives kids live ammo and then he plays hide and seek, and says to Jensen, _let’s take it easy._

The only thing Jensen can do is laugh, laugh so hard is almost hysterical, lean against something solid, and hope that this, this comedy of absurdities is indeed the fate that life has allotted him. 

####  **_**Epilogue** _ **

#####  _JENSEN_

Padalecki drags him back to the table. The starting point. 

The sun begins to rise. 

It should be the end. 

Jensen is exhausted by the rollercoaster of emotions they’ve gone through. 

But Jared starts to speak again. 

“This - today – with the recruits - this wasn’t that, I promise,” Jared explains, probably assuming Jensen will glean the meaning of life from that short sentence. 

“Wasn’t what?” 

“Like Afghanistan.” 

He says it looking straight into Jensen’s eyes. 

It’s the truth, Jensen sees. 

“Then what was it?” 

“Something that has to be done,” Jared answers, crushing the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray, then immediately pulling another out of the pack. He puts the new one between his lips, lights it. Then he takes it out, continues to speak. Jensen watches those routine little gestures like his life depends on it. “I know it’s a risk. But if anyone wants me to teach these kids something, how to be soldiers, then they have to let me do it my way.” 

He looks dead serious. 

Set on something. 

“I won’t do it every time. And this one - there was never any real danger to me. They’re young, but they’re not stupid. Just…not everyone can have your aim, Ackles.” 

Okay, that sounds almost _reasonable_. 

Which, _what_. 

And, wait - that’s why - 

“You came home,” Jensen says, frowning, leaning towards Jared. “That’s why you were out of uniform - “ 

The Padalecki who fished a bullet out of his leg with a pocket knife the first day they met does not come home from work for a _scratch._

“I thought -“ Jared starts, struggling a bit to find the right words. “They seemed pretty shaken up, even when they saw I was fine. I’m an asshole, but not to the degree I’d traumatize them before they even saw a war zone.” 

“Lies,” Jensen replies. “You’ve been looking for loose screws you can jiggle from day one.” 

Jared chuckles, says nothing. 

And yeah, with a mischievous Jared at his side, everything seems right again, even if for just one moment, for one blissful second where they know, when it seems like there’s no one else in the world, just them, sharing an inside joke. 

####  _JARED_

Okay, yes, Jared sees how his plea to be more careful could be laughable, coming from himself. 

He waits for Jensen to stop laughing. 

Jared feels the need to clarify something. He pulls Jensen back to the table. 

“Jensen, “ he starts once they’re both sitting back down. ”This - today with the recruits- it wasn’t that, I promise,” he explains. 

He was just trying to teach the recruits a lesson. A lesson that should be taught. 

_He is trying_. 

He tells Jensen. 

Jensen seems to understand. To believe Jared. 

What more can Jared ask? 

“Tell me about your brother, Jensen.” 

Jensen looks at him. 

“What?” 

Jared shrugs. “Tell me all the good things about him. Everything he’s done for you.” 

“Why?” 

Okay, question man. 

Jared’s willing to play the game this time. 

“Because I want to learn.” _How to love you_ , is what Jared doesn’t add, but hopes Jensen gets all the same. 

It’s a mess, this thing they have, but can’t be impossible. 

Hell, Jared’s built his resume on making his way out of impossible situations. His annoying habit of insisting reality bend to his wishes has to serve for something more than a good career and a silly nickname. 

They’ll do this. 

With Cortese. With Beaver. With anyone they need. 

Because what he hasn’t told Jensen - what he’s not ready to accept about himself - is that this is more important than anything else. That he, too, makes all his decisions with Jensen in mind. That he’s still not sold on the white picket fence, forever kind of love, but he’ll fight, he’ll fight until he can’t, because this is what he wants: 

Jensen, in the light of morning, asking him if he wants coffee with his story. 


End file.
